


Blown Ashes

by HiddenEye



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballerina!Allura, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, bad memories, musician!keith
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-24 02:46:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HiddenEye/pseuds/HiddenEye
Summary: Allura relished on the feeling of burning muscles and the exhilaration of building a legacy under her own name, where her studio welcomes to all who wishes to share the same purpose and to those who prefer to shake the past off their shoulders.But then, there's Keith.





	1. we're still wandering

**Author's Note:**

> Kallura week just started from where I am, and this kinda gave me an excuse to write more of their dynamic after a boost in their explored relationship from season 2
> 
> I'll be adding more tags later on, and possibly change the rating as well 
> 
> This is unbeta'd, sorry for any mistakes!

There were many ways to get hold of those fleeting interests that unfurl under a sudden beam of inspiration, either bloomed by the consistency of one's perseverance or dragged down by the sole of another’s condemnatory view of anything that seemed too frivolous for their stuck up nose to take otherwise.

Passion, Allura thought, was a great _fuck you_ to display when everyone simply assumed that she would do everything they asked (re: demand) with a snap of their fingers; most likely preening at the thought of controlling the strings of her veins like some fool in front of the King's table.

Reaching for her toes on the floor, she quietly reminisced on the bloated red-faced partner of her father’s when she cut off his whines -about how he was going to raise more buildings for “the rats who pissed on his money”- by calmly telling him the reason he was still on top of his mountain of shit was because his minions were more than happy to lick his ass for him.

In a nicer way of wording, of course. She wasn't going to tarnish her father's position as a well-respected man any further with her undisciplined tongue, not when he was already getting enough backstabbing from the same type of people who envied him for so many things.

Father already gave up on telling her to stop biting their fingers when they offered her their claws by the time she was seventeen.

Maybe, taking over the company _would_ be a great way to knock some sense into them; but then, once their deranged view of the world clouded their eyesight, it would affect the proper etiquette of using their brains in order to make sure the world didn't collapse on itself while at the same time, say, voting for some self-proclaimed fascist to rule the country.

God help her if that were to happen.

After counting to eight, she reached for her other foot with both of her hands, head bowed as she recounted the numbers in order to feel the burn of her muscles, to remind herself that the reason she wandered to this path long ago instead of following Father's footsteps was because she needed a break.

To even think about that particular incident was already making her skin crawl with disgust.

And if she were to admit it to herself, the cobwebs of fear that still lingered with it.

“You're going to break your hip if you stay like that any longer.”

Shoving the last of her thoughts down, she slowly straightened herself up until she was meeting Lance’s smirk. He had his duffel bag slung on his shoulder while his earphones were spilling out from his jean's pockets, worn over the black bodysuit he slipped on for practices.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and instead connected her ankles together to stretch to the front. “You're late.”

“If we're going to have a look at the clock, I'm on time,” he corrected her lightly as he walked towards the table at the end of the room, dumping his bag on it with a muted _thud._ “Anyway, the kids aren't here yet, so actually, I'm _early_.”

“If your definition of early was to come five minutes before they did, then yes.” She replied dryly, standing up to rest her foot on top of the barre this time, before bending over. “Your perception of time is a mess, change it. And these ‘kids’ are talented people who would perform in front of the Queen soon, so show some respect for them.”

To say that Allura was thrilled when she first heard the news was an understatement itself, because she hadn't thought that after four years of clawing herself to the top again was going to be paid off as handsomely as this. It earned her the honour, and she was going to make sure everything was going to sail smoothly without any interruptions that could jeopardise this chance.

“You probably don’t notice this, but you coddle them too much,” he remarked, but she could still hear the same type of amusement in his voice, before the sound of a zipper rang through the space. “I mean, not in terms of practice, because you got that down as if we're going to fight in a galactic war. But, what I'm saying is that you like to _boast_ about them.”

“Are you saying I _can't_ be proud of my own students?” She questioned mildly, lifting her head to see the way he shoved his pants into his bag. “What kind of cold-hearted creature do you make of me?”

“A hot one,” came the quick reply, and Allura rolled her eyes at the pun before dropping to her feet, where Lance had started his own stretches. “You could've seen the way they lit up like a damn light bulb after you gave your speech, I thought the dude at the back was going to burst by the amount of blood in his face.”

“They deserved it,” she said simply, crossing over towards the grand piano at the other corner of the room, the black exterior reflecting of what little sunlight that shone through the large windows. “After all the hard work and then winning at the last competition, some praises would lift their spirits a bit.”

“‘A bit’ might be an understatement,” he commented, and she only sat on the stool, running her fingers lightly above the keys. “Did you find anyone to fill in for Hunk?”

She sighed quietly. “No.”

Hunk was their part time pianist. He wasn't able to play for them recently since he was going to go through his last semester in PhD soon, and she couldn't burden him with the thought of him working with them when he wanted to focus on his finals. Bright man he was, she knew she couldn't turn down his wishes, not when she went through the same thing when she was still learning.

“Well, we're in luck,” Lance announced, a grin on his face from where he stretched his foot against the barre. “There's someone who saw our flyers and called me about it, said something about wanting to participate.”

“Did you tell him I’d want to see him first?”

“Well, we're going to need your input on him sooner or later so yes, I did.” He grunted when he pushed himself further, his voice becoming slightly strained from the position he was in. “I told him to come tomorrow if that was okay.”

“After practice, I assume?” She asked, mind flipping through songs that would suit her current taste at the moment.

Let's see. What would scream nonchalance, inflicted hatred upon the damned, and just plain old exhaustion?

“Yeah. I asked a few things about him, said he was in an orchestra once.”

Feeling a trickle of interest, she peered over the top of the piano to look at him. “Once?”

“Under a scholarship,” putting down his foot, he shrugged. “Maybe he dropped out or something, but we can bring him in to have a look at him.” He eyed her carefully then. “If you want.”

“We're kind of desperate at the moment, so yes,” she began as she pressed into the keys, resigning to play Sonata in C Minor when it was the only thing that popped into mind despite it being disgustingly cheerful. “I'd like to meet him.”

Playing this piece was similar to dancing to where her body felt as if she was flying through the seas, energy coursing through her veins as she let it sweep her into another dimension while she was alone in this sanctuary of hers; free to move wherever she wanted with no boundaries that could stop her.

She let the past fall away, to only think of what would come for her, and how she was going to demolish any more walls that dared stood in her way.

Lance let her play, right until all the students came in that she finally stopped. They had seen and heard her play before, and gave an applause to which she bowed with a grin on her face, before they began their practice for the day.

 

* * *

 

When Allura took a sip of her tea, she made a mental note to never let it cool too much ever again.

Making a face, she set aside the cup onto its saucer before replaying the video of Altea dancing to ‘Voltron’, choreographed by Lance and herself as the team performed wonderfully on the stage with grace and perfection that were drilled into the dancers through the months they practiced. She counted the steps in her head as she followed the way the soloist glided under the spotlight, the corps de ballet moving into a similar fashion as they followed the sequence Allura recalled showing to them the first time.

The cafe was extraordinary empty at that moment, allowing her to hear the muted clutter from the kitchen accompany the hum that came with the atmosphere of the place, a cosy feeling that she would never actually experience if she were to go back to her apartment at the very moment. Contented, warmed on that worn one-seater, even if the fairy lights near were threatening to drop on her head in any second if she wouldn't move anytime soon.

That was never going to stop her, though.

One day, her own stubbornness was going to spat back at her in the face with equal contempt if she kept up like this. Because, while some admired her ability to stand long enough even after boulders of hatred were hurled towards her way, others would think she was a puzzle to be played with.

She glanced at the dusty little bulbs above her head, white wires long ago yellowed with age.

If the mountain wouldn't move from the blast of the wind, then why should she?

Shifting her eyes to the corner of her phone, she let out a quiet snort.

Maybe she shouldn't have worked well past midnight among the cold chairs and tables. At least, not when the barista was staring almost pleadingly at her from the back of the counter.

Allura winced, putting away her phone as she gave her a small wave. The girl flinched a little, as if she finally realised she had been staring the whole time as her pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment, huffing out a breath that could be heard all the way to where Allura was already getting up.

She made a beeline towards the counter, where the barista was beginning to eye her warily through her round glasses as Allura only smiled apologetically in return, pulling out a twenty from her purse. “I'm sorry about this,” she started, laughing a little. “I shouldn't have stayed so late.”

When she began handing out the money, the girl only stared at it. “What's this for?”

“Your tip,” Allura answered, putting it on the counter in between them when the girl made no attempt to take it. “For not chasing me off.”

“Well, I'm not exactly taught to shoo customers away so,” the girl shrugged, but nonetheless took the money before giving Allura a crooked smile. “Thanks.”

“You're welcome, Pidge,” Allura said, looking away from the nametag to meet her eyes. “I'll try to remember to leave early next time.”

The smile turned a bit bigger. “When colleges suck you bone dry, any extra tip is more than welcomed.”

Before Allura could reply, however, the bell rang shrilly as someone slammed the door open, and she thought she saw the way Pidge resisted the twitch on her eyelid.

A customer going back late while another was going to break the door in half by coming in? Pidge's self-restraint was incredible at the end of the day.

“Sorry,” Pidge muttered, and Allura admired the way she was still able to plaster a smile for the new customer, only for it to immediately sour into a scowl. “Keith, what the hell are you doing here?”

“A drink,” someone replied slowly, emphasising on the later as he came with the chill of the night, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Since the cafe is still open.”

“You know what time I close this place,” she snapped, crossing her arms as he pointedly sat a couple of stools away from Allura. “And yet, you dragged your ass here as if I don't have class tomorrow.”

One corner of his lips pulled up slightly. “And yet, here I am seated in front of you. For the record, you don't have any classes in the morning.”

“It doesn't mean I don't wanna sleep early this time, Cherry Bomb.” She shot back.

Indigo eyes. Allura suspected she hadn't recall anyone having that kind of colour before. The bunch she knew who had this kind of unique colour were the neighbour’s kids back when she was still living with her father; Florona with her oddly obsidian eyes while Lotor had an icy white look that cut through anyone who crossed his way.

This indigo reminded her of the skin of the plums she ate when there was still picnics with her parents, the same colour of the dress she first wore to the Christmas dinner Father's company set up to celebrate the festive day, the bruises of a boy from a distant memory-

He turned his gaze towards her, and she held her breath.

Her mother always said that if fate was going to give you a flower that had the smell of a corpse, you take it.

If fate was going to toss you into a whirlpool of fire and made it looked as if you slipped, you accept the fact.

Because either way, fate was cruel and it was only a matter of time before one incident was going to be presented to her after the last one. It was an equivalent way of feeding your pet using the given time you made up in order to be consistent.

And the same exhilarating feeling of free falling from one spectrum of horror to a whole field of roses would be the same.

It would hurt.

She didn't know this at the time, hadn't even thought of her mother's pained voice whispering those words to her as Allura watched the man in front of her now, where fate was quickly stuffing her with the feeling of shock like a cold turkey that was about to get into the oven.

The look he gave her was only a second long for her to assess his jet black hair and pink lips, the red turtleneck pronouncing his sharp jaw while his black coat showed his firm structure.

When he pulled his gaze away, she couldn't help the small breath that released. Clamping her mouth shut, Allura faced Pidge, who despite all the complaints she was currently drilling on him, made his drink. “Thank you, Pidge,” Allura told her, forcing out a smile. “I'll see you when I can?”

Pidge nodded. “Sure thing, uh-”

“Allura.” She supplied over her shoulder as she made her way towards the door.

She was tempted to lie to herself as to why her heart was beating wildly against her chest, on why she suddenly had the urge to flee from the place.

Gut feeling, some would say. A bad omen.

She knew better.

This was just the burning familiarity of someone she thought she would never see again.

“Be safe!” Pidge called out, waving at her.

Indigo eyes followed her as well, and Allura pulled her coat tightly around herself before stepping outside.


	2. to float is sufficient

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, I don't know anything about ballerinas and what they truly do while they practice, and I'm only writing what I assume are the basics from the Power of Google™ and from what Black Swan gave us when Natalie Portman was crying her eyes out 
> 
> If you think I'm making somesort of mistake, please tell me so that I can try to fix it
> 
> And uh, day 2 with underwater, I guess 
> 
> Unbeta'd because I am hopeless
> 
> Enjoy!

Contrary to popular belief, Allura had decent ties with her cousin despite them fighting almost every time they were stuck together. Years past, mutual camaraderie then mutated into something more biting as they hung onto the thread of being civil when needed to be, mixing in the occasional poke of a stick every chance they got whenever something arose that made them bare their fangs at each other.

Although, ‘decent’ wasn't going to shift into _good_ anytime soon.

They communicate through more taunts than they were to intentionally scar, where the consideration of making sure that they didn't overstep the boundaries of what was carved between them was, to say the least, respected in some way or another. There were topics they agreed they wouldn't touch and there were others they would be more than enthusiastic to rub into each other's faces.

Their respect and hair was probably the only thing they had in common.

She didn't need to press onto the buzzer twice before the door swung open in front of her with a flourish that almost made her roll her eyes, but instead met his blank look with a raised eyebrow of her own as she held onto the paper bag with one hand.

“Allura, darling,” the leer was absent this time, even if her name was said blandly, but she allowed herself to feel some relief at his mood. “I probably should be surprised when I saw your face through the camera, but you managed to be predictable enough that I'm actually not.”

“Can't I swing by just to say hello?” She blinked her eyes innocently at him, but he didn't seemed phased as he merely stared back.

“‘Swing by’ is a half an hour drive from where you live.” He pointed out lazily, leaning against the door frame with his arms crossed. “If you were desperate, you could have just called and sing your love to me.”

“So full of yourself, as always,” She commented lightly, reaching for the thermos in the bag and shook it in front of his face, hearing the slosh of beverage hitting the sides of the container. “And, I have a peace offering.”

He eyed it sharply, before dragging the same expression towards her face. “Even I have the sense to wait for the end of the day before I start vandalising my own liver.”

“That didn't stop you before,” she replied easily, moving it aside so that she was able to see him properly. Somehow, she was only seeing the way he bred his hair, and gave him a bored look. “You couldn't bare to not follow me like a sad ugly duckling, could you, Lotor?”

They were cousins and they used to be neighbours, but the fact that Lotor wouldn't change what he was even if it meant saving his life wasn't going to happen anytime soon.

Besides, he was used to getting his hands dipped into a concoction of immorality if he felt like it, and then smearing it onto the nearest person before continuing his way as if he hadn't personally violated someone else's reputation while keeping his brand as the son of Zarkon, Galra's figure of power.

There were times she was his target, but she would dodge just so she would give him a hard time.

“I see what I like and I make it original, baby cousin,” he replied flippantly, combing his fingers through the long strands of his high ponytail, looking absolutely unapologetic at the fact that he grew into his hair just to get a rise out of her. “And thanks to my extraordinary talent, I was able to break someone's dick when he tried to force himself onto me with that sad excuse, embarrassing himself further the moment he cried for his mum.”

She let her hand flopped to her side in disbelief. “You _hurt_ someone?”

“I’d only waste my energy for people like him when I need to defend myself,” he shrugged, as if it was normal day occurrence. “Even if all it took was to topple that overweight pig with a nice aimed kick to his crotch.”

“And you just left him there?”

“What else was I supposed to do? Cradle his cheek and give him a kiss while he whined himself into a bloody mess?”

“Getting him to the hospital would be a great alternative.”

“Cute. But after seeing his rather firm intentions of wanting to shove his dick up my ass, you and I know that he deserved to rot there.”

She would probably be no different if someone tried the same thing to her, but she'll try to _at_ _least_ fix it by making sure the damage she did would be strictly minimal.

Damn him for knowing her too well.

She let out a small sigh, dropping the thermos into the bag again. “Can I come in or are you just going to let me stand here all day?”

The corner of his lips hooked into an amused smirk. “The day hasn't even started and you're miserable already?”

“Who wouldn't after you made a point of telling me about your little expedee with that man?” She questioned archingly.

“Always so snippy at this time,” he tutted, but nonetheless moved aside to let her walk into his house, and she let out a small breath of relief when the warmth snatched her away from the cold autumn air. “Despite the fact that you wake up every morning without an alarm.”

“Should I be worried that you know how my timetable works or should I just act surprised?” She told him dryly, making a beeline towards the breakfast counter, dumping the paper bag on top of it before she began to shrug off her coat. “And that's coffee, by the way.”

He was halfway taking out the thermos when he paused, blinking down at it. “It is, huh?”

“Don't sound so disappointed,” she snorted, pulling herself up to sit on the stool. “Anymore of your gin, and you'll die by the time you're forty without a wife to mourn over your bloated body.”

Allura always thought that his house was too big despite all the decor he had to fill in the large spaces; paintings and vases that cost thousands of dollars would be shown at every floor, a couple of maids taking turns in cleaning the house in order to make sure it would be in perfect condition every time he held up some sort of party.

The bachelor he was, his parties would be overflowing with people and wine alike, where he would welcome everyone to take a dip into his indoor pool while he himself have a partner or two hanging onto his arms with an artificial smile on their lips, most likely making an effort to dig their hands through his pants in order to have at least _some_ of his money.

“Where's your sweetheart?” Allura questioned, taking the bag from his hands to pull out a sandwich bagel for herself. “Who knows? Maybe I'll actually make an effort to say hi to them this time.”

“Left,” he replied shortly, taking another one for himself before he ripped the wrapper open. And then, he took a bite. “In a hurry too,” she grimaced at his full mouth. “but I could've sworn she looked a _bit_ sympathetic that she had to leave.”

“Or you were too blind,” she said airily, unwrapping the cling film from her brunch. “Because you get the same type of girls every month that I'm surprised you're not tired of them yet.”

“I could always recommend them to you,” he wiped the corner of his mouth with a thumb. “Some of them were actually interested in fucking you too, even before I took them to my room. Mind you, I wasn't the slightest bit insulted.”

“You're disgusting,” she scoffed, taking a bite of her bagel. “And I don't take leftovers from you, especially if they're going to raid my money too."

“Oh, some of them are quite nice, you know, and I've counted a few that _could_ be considered as your type,” his tone dropped into something more knowing, and Allura made a point of idly going through a magazine that happened to be near her. “Dark haired, a little bit of spice here and there, lovely attitude,” she dismissed him with a flip of a page, going from healthy diets to Brangelina’s shocking divorce. “and exceptionally good in bed.”

“Are you quite done trying to promote me with your girls?”

“And boys, if you weren't aware.”

“How can I forget when you slept with everyone in the city?” She asked archingly.

“The same way you seem to forget that you don't just barge into my house to just poke me with meaningless questions,” he retaliated almost cheerfully, setting aside his sandwich onto a saucer. “As well as the fact that you're actually itching to ask something from me that might cost you some of your dignity."

The sound of a popped bottle would be louder than this silence, and that was the only answer he needed when he laced his fingers together. “If you want me to congratulate you for your company's success in getting Her Majesty's attention, the flowers would arrive soon.”

“Don't be ridiculous.” She sighed.

“Or you're asking me to join your little group of dancers,” the way he continued was as if she hadn't said anything. “Which would hurt that sweet boy’s heart if I suddenly took his place by your side. A shame, really, he's too pretty to cry.”

“Lance is as good as dancer as you, if not better,” she retorted, steadily meeting his bored gaze even if his eyes seemed to glint at her. “And this has nothing to do with him.”

“Ah, but it still has to do with _something_ ,” he curled up his lips. “What is it then?”

“A proposal.” Both of his eyebrows shot up at her declaration. “Where it doesn't involve your arm hangers compromising my dancers.”

He stared at her. “What does that have to do with me?”

His bafflement looked quite honest, but she still slipped her hand into her jeans pocket to pull out what she had been carrying the whole while, and set the black wristwatch on the marble counter. “I found this dropped at the studio after one of our back dancers thought it would be funny to do cocaine right before we were supposed to perform on stage, and we were only lucky to pull her back just in time.”

“So, that's where it went,” he muttered, reaching for the expensive watch. “But, this still doesn't explain why I have anything to do with it.”

Allura was beginning to think she had to spell it out. “We both know you wanted what I have now more than I did when we were younger,” she began, boring into his eyes. “And you made my life a living hell before this just because I was working for my father while handling my own dancers at the sidelines, a feat that you’re trying to juggle. What's so different about doing it again?”

Four years before, she turned a blind eye towards everything else as she worked hard to be the best, to follow in her father's footsteps. Four years ago, she didn't know the signs until it was too late, and it wasn't long before she found out that Lotor had _some_ part of letting the media hound onto her doorstep for questions she didn't want to answer, where it took a while for them to leave after that incident.

Thinking about it was enough to make her dig her nails into her palms, but she didn't show any sort of agitation that would satisfy him in any way.

“It's understandable that you're still mad about that,” Lotor started, but there wasn't any ounce of empathy that suggested he actually cared. “but, using my watch won't be enough proof for whatever it is you're accusing me of than the fact that she had it with her at that time. So, if you're going to scream at me, might as well make it worth your time by having _concrete_ proof.”

“Trying to ruin what I have left isn't enough?” She remarked.

“Physical proof, Allura,” he slipped on the watch, buckling it into place. “I'm a lawyer of my father's company, the only way you can win is if you throw the evidence in their faces.”

“Even then, they can't seem to get it.”

He only gave a short laugh. “That's denial for you.”

Perhaps she was still looking into it more than she should, itching to go through what she vowed to never look back at again while the injustice that scorched inside her howled with fury, claws extended to latch onto anyone that was within its reach.

Perhaps she was still wounded, desperate to put everything back together while she drowned in her own remorse.

“Don't sleep with my dancers next time.” She murmured, watching the way he admired his watch under the fluorescent lights.

He waved the warning away. “Promising things hasn't always been my strongest suit.”

 

* * *

 

“Again.”

Being strict had, perhaps, been one of the few things that she clung onto when she raised from what mess she fell, determination in honing all of her focus into making sure her company would strive successfully, a sign that said that the bird could still survive even with one broken wing.

Or, she wanted to bury all of what evidence of the scandal she suffered from under the thin layer of foundation she made.

“Take it this way,” she began, walking towards where Rolo was easing his limbs from a pliè, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. “The protagonist is trying to find a way to take down the antagonist while using every possible ideas they could come out with, but, seeing that the villain has the advantage of being two steps forward, it’d be a bit difficult in catching up and taking him down.”

“Basically, they're dancing around each other, but with murder,” Lance joked, legs spread into a split while he did his stretches. “It's a game of cat and mouse; because the villain is fucking the hero over to the point the hero thinks he's going animal by trying to take the villain down. Psychological, you see, and that made the hero kinda pissed off.”

“Exactly,” Allura agreed, facing both Rolo and Thace, hands on her hips. “We need you to appear full of hatred and anger the moment five paladins combined into one, which would then form Voltron. Your emotions, for one, needed to be more convincing.”

“Easier said,” Rolo muttered under his breath while Thace only gave her a shallow nod.

She narrowed her eyes. “Which is why I'm making you do it again until it happens, and by then you'll have to dance to it until you know which sequence starts where if I wanted you from the middle.”

“Radio, please,” she continued as she gave them space, and she stood beside Lance as he reached over to press play again.

“The radio isn't the same,” Lance mentioned with a tint of grumble in his tone while the music started up, and he stood up to stand properly beside her. “Did the guy I mentioned call you?”

“Not yet,” she said, observing the way Thace moved with intent to kill, almost stalking his way through the floor while Rolo deflected, spinning around the older man as if to avoid his attack. “I was hoping he would come in today.”

“Obviously not,” he muttered, crossing his arms across his chest. “He did mention to me he'd be seeing us before we start practice, but we're practising now and he's not here so…”

“Maybe he'll come a bit later than usual,” she shrugged.

“Any moment now would be good.” He snorted.

It was then she heard the door open behind her did she turned around to have a look, only to stiffen at the sight.

If there was one thing she knew about coincidences, it was that she never actually believed anything superstitious in the first place despite all the talk about fate and destiny her mother kept murmuring about, where it became like a bedtime story that still lingered behind, one that required her to dip her foot into it if she wanted to have a taste of dreams again.

Maybe, it was because of this that everything smacked her in the face, where it came rushing back in a form of a sadistic wave where nothing could stand in its way, a blaring horn that clearly spelled ‘I told you so’ in bold letters.

Because, if Keith was the pianist Lance had been talking about, then she would have to actually start listening to what she was ignoring in the first place.

Wary eyes flickered around the studio, clearly trying to find the owner of the company while Allura didn't bring his attention towards her; watching, curious. Walking in, he was holding onto his coat while he pointedly ignored the way the dancers latched onto his appearance like leeches, clearly enamoured with the handsome stranger's presence as they whispered excitedly under their breaths.

Allura took a small breath before she squared her shoulders, taking calm steps while he looked completely at lost to where he was, before his attention was snagged by the way she was making her way towards him.

She didn't expect him to look too neutral the moment he caught her gaze, almost as if he had been expecting to see her face among this atmosphere of sweaty people and hardworking dancers.

She thought that was rather odd.

“Welcome,” she began, thankful that her voice didn't waver as she gave him a smile. “I suppose you're our new pianist?”

 

_What did your dad say about it?_

_He didn't mind._

_I thought he wanted you to be something else?_

_He said that so long it didn't make me rot in the house, then he's fine with it._

 

“I guess,” Keith held up the flyer in his hand, smoothing it down. “It said you wanted someone to play the piano, either permanently or part-time.”

“That's right,” she agreed with a nod, eyes refusing to tear away from the crinkled piece of paper. “Our performance would start sooner than we realise, and we're kind of in an emergency at the moment to find someone to play with the rest of the orchestra, since our part-timer wouldn't be able to make it.”

The pause came whether or not they thought of avoiding it, and Allura was glad that Lance was there to subconsciously stomp on the growing awkwardness between them when he came bounding over, a friendly smile on his face. “Hey! You must be Keith.”

“Lance, right?” Keith accepted Lance’s offered hand for a handshake. “When we were on the phone?”

“Yeah, that's me,” Letting go, Lance gave Allura an inquiring look. “Should we continue practising later?”

“No,” was what came out of her mouth as she dragged her gaze to face Keith, holding onto his look. “I want to hear him play.”

He wasn't stupid, he clearly knew what she was doing when he stared back at her with little surprise on his face, almost as if he had expected her to say that as well.

The paper was folded before being deposited into his pockets. “Fine.”

She didn't meet the sharp look Lance was drilling her with as she turned towards the dancers, schooling any sort of expression that managed to escape while she saw the way they waited expectantly for her orders.

It should be gratifying to know that there are people that trust you even after all the things that were done.

She led him towards the piano, where the sheets of music were already waiting to be used. “If you think this isn't up to your taste,” she started, and her voice sounded as if it rang through the whole space as everyone stayed quiet. “Any complaints would be considered to.”

Keith didn't reply as he grazed a finger against the keys, before settling onto the seat while Allura was already rounding the dancers up. “Right, we’ll start from the top. Get to your places.”

The command was met with scrambling dancers, but like them, she was able to feel the sudden change of air as they did as she told, crackling with energy that made her skin tingle slightly with newborn anticipation, where there was effort to stay perfectly quiet while they stood at their places to wait for her queue.

It was familiar, and it was wholeheartedly welcomed.

Keith took a good look at the notes before snapping his gaze towards her way, realisation and disbelief burned brightly in those eyes that made her hide her smile , focusing only on her dancers.

Once everything was in place, she nodded towards him.

Music, like everything she remembered about him, was the only way he could get back to her in retaliation.

And for the first time that day, pure energy burst into the room like cosmic dusts.


	3. run baby, run

“Carnations?”

“Could be worse,” Lance grunted from behind the large bouquet of flowers, peeking at the side to see where he was going. “Like roses or- nope, no,” he shook his head when she stood up from her desk to help, and began shuffling his way towards a nearby table. “I got it, you stay there.”

“You could trip.” Allura warned, but didn’t move as she watched the way he carefully set it aside, thick lacy pink ribbons spilling off the table while they shimmered slightly from the afternoon sun.

“Don't jinx it,” he scoffed, straightening up. “Why red?”

“An inside joke,” she snorted, retying her hair into a bun as she made her way towards it. Soft petals brushed against her fingers as she pushed them aside, looking for a note that Lotor would surely want her to have. “Because he thinks he's funny.”

Because that was how they had always been. He would give her something red, she would give him something purple.

There would always be a meaning for them; the purples she sent would usually be after he did something that made her pissed off, mostly after he humiliated her with that unlicensed tongue of his when she wished she could migrate those same dark colours onto his skin by using her fists.

The threat was as empty as the millions worth of Greek gods she shot with a paintball gun, purple splattering over the marble statues he kept as collection to be hawked off after a rather messy fight between them at the age of nineteen. She couldn't bring herself to feel guilty even if it _was_ considered as childish; not when Lotor seduced her boyfriend at the time into bed and sent her a picture of them snuggling together.

In her own room.

Lotor answered her rage with a large photo of him giving her a flying kiss with red tinted lips ten minutes after she broke off with the guy, his envelope smelling like Hugo Boss.

It was then used as a fire starter for that winter.

“Knowing him, he's probably being a total jackass,” she gave a shrug at his statement, nonchalant, before she felt the corner of the card bumping against her fingers and pulled it out. “As per usual.”

“I'm sorry that you had to meet him in the first place,” flipping it open, she scoffed at what it said and slammed the card beside the flowers. “Unfortunately, he's nosy and we have the same blood running through our veins, and he uses that excuse to come here whenever he wants.” She sighed, rubbing the side of her face. “I shouldn't let this stress me out _.”_

“It's not worth it,” Lance agreed, taking the card while she went back to her desk. He took a look, and both of his eyebrows shot up. “He left his watch here?”

“Yes.” She answered shortly.

“How?”

“What do you mean ‘how’? He accidentally left it here and I made the mistake of feeling generous by giving it back when I should've just sell it and take the money.”

He opened his mouth, before clamping his jaw close with a click as he set the card on the table again. “Okay, fine. But the hearts are a bit too much, right?”

“He's obnoxious,” she reminded him, going back to the paperwork she had been working before he came in. “More than you.”

“I should be insulted, but I'm actually a little bit surprised that I'm not,” he informed her rather lightly, tone leaning towards the growing snark. “At least my level of flamboyant isn't borderline crazy.”

“Thank Holy Mary,” she answered just as dryly.

Another mistake she did was popping over his house and opening her mouth like an idiot. Why would he care? He had been like this since they were children, there would be nothing that was going to change him even if it meant crushing someone else's life.

He had no mercy, and she made a fool out of herself by allowing him to humiliate her further, pulling back her reputation until it was within her hands reach like a starving man asking for food.

“I'm had been wondering, though,” Lance began, leaning against her desk as he plucked one pens from the casing, turning it over. “If you knew Keith.”

She tried not to let it startle her too much, and continued going through the papers when a strand of silver hair fell into her eyes. “I do.”

“That could probably explain why you keep avoiding him, right?”

She paused, lifting her head to look at him while he continued to turnover the expensive pen; more subconsciously if anything else. “What makes you say that?”

“Just that whenever you two would be in the same room, you'd make an excuse to leave.” He shrugged, slotting the pen behind his ear before lacing his fingers together. “Were you two together? Like, a couple?”

“First of all-” she began, stacking the papers in one place almost forcefully.

“Whoop, there it is.” He muttered.

“-I need him to be in the same room with us because he plays the piano,” she gave him a pointed arch of her eyebrows. “and so, ‘avoiding him’ would be considered as somewhat interesting because without him, there would be no music, and without music we wouldn't be able to practise for the show and then we'll only make ourselves look like idiots in front of the queen.”

“Please don't do quotations,” Lance interjected blandly. “And it's not about you avoiding _before_ practising, it's after. The moment we’re done, you’d run off as if you're going to celebrate Lotor's death in your hot tub with 80s pop rock on instead of chatting with the dancers like you always do.”

She opened her mouth to deny him, but clamped it shut again with a click before pointing a finger at him in accusation; mostly because of how he was, unfortunately to her, correct at the second part. But, she wasn't going to prove his point. “That was oddly specific and while I admire your type of imagination, I didn't run off the moment we were done.”

“Yes, you did. I've seen in it with my own two eyes.”

“Slander.” She deadpanned.

“I'm not _lying_.”

“And _I_ didn't run off.”

“Fine, let's just say you fast walked out because of some sudden emergency,” he held up his hand when she opened her mouth again. “Did you two date?”

“No,” she replied shortly. “We were friends, sure, but not,” she shook her head, laughing a bit in disbelief. “Not like _that_.”

There were so many implications in ‘that’, where so many past occurrence that happened between both her and Keith, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know the extend meaning of ‘that’ even if she thought there was nothing between them.

Better leave it where it was dropped.

Then, she glared at him. “Why the sudden curiosity?”

Lance held up his hands in mock defeat. “I was curious.”

Allura eyed him suspiciously. “Are you trying to hit on him?”

“Whoa, okay, even if you made yourself clear you didn't want anything to do with him, it doesn't necessarily mean I want to jump in his pants.”

“He's nice.”

He snorted. “‘Nice’ is putting it a bit too dry.”

Ah, typical Keith. “What did he do?”

“ _I_ tried to be nice to him, but he kept grunting out answers like a damn caveman,” he told her, pulling the pen from his ear. “Does he always have a grey cloud above his head, or is it just me?”

“Probably just you,” she said dryly, dropping on the chair as she reached for her mug of tea. “With that nose jabbing into people's business, I wouldn't be surprised.”

“ _Hey_ ,” he objected, putting the pen back into its case. “I was _worried_ for your safety, because he could be a murderer threatening you and I was only making sure you were okay.”

“Aww, that's so sweet of you,” she cooed above the rim of her mug, smirking at his unimpressed expression. “Thank you for making sure I don't get murdered in my own studio, but no, we actually know each other so,” she didn't bother to finish her sentence before she gave a small shrug, taking a sip of her drink.

“Yeah.” He rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

 

* * *

 

She was actually trained to become an entrepreneur like her father.

Ballet was only a secondary thing, a backup if you will.

It was what she wanted.

Ballet was her safe zone after she had to deal with leering men, where a hard day's work would cause her to escape to the confines of ceography and Beethoven's aggressive attitude towards everything that dragged anyone down, dancing in front of her large mirrors while the notes bounced on every wall of her apartment.

There was one time she danced until her toe cracked.

It broke her out of her anger, a snap of the thin thread while she nestled her wound with music pounding against her eardrums.

But, as she stared at the bloody mess, it left her with grim satisfaction of a reminder that no one would break her unless her body collapsed upon itself.

Like those flowers wilting in her office.

It was good advice when no one had an opinion in it, she thought, and she survived to this moment.

A creak of a door pulled her out of her thoughts.

Gasping, her felt her focus shattering like glass when she swerved to the side, the pirouette cut short as she caught herself from falling entirely on the floor.

Straightening up, she lifted her head to see Keith standing at the door, guilt seeping in his features when he realised he was interrupting.

“Sorry,” he apologised, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

She went over to where the radio was perched on top of the piano, switching it off with a quick press of a button. The silence that came after was just as deafening, but she ignored it by plucking the water bottle she left on the bench, composure strengthened. “Keith,” she greeted, twisting the cap open. “I didn't realise you were still here.”

“I came back to get the sheets, actually,” he said, stepping in with his arms shoved into his jeans pockets. “Thought of practising it at home to make myself familiar with it.”

She took a gulp of water. “You created the song, and yet you need to practice it?”

Perhaps, she was going too fast with this, rushing headfirst into a childhood she wished she could visit again.

But, he was known to keep up, after all.

“My copy was stuffed with the rest under my old bed,” he chose his words carefully, watching her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. “Practising that song wasn't going to happen when I was at college.”

Doubtful, since that song was played until they didn't need to look at the notes anymore, where they were still young and recklessly pressing into the keys while they mesmerised it by heart.

“But, you still remembered how it goes when you arrived there, right?” She held his stare, leaning against the piano with the bottle still in hand. “We made sure of that.”

“I was busy with projects,” he said slowly. “Even if I was sitting on the same stool for the whole day, I was mostly focused on making sure I didn't give the instructor a reason to kick me out.”

She knew that, of course, but the irritating feeling of dissatisfaction still spread across her sternum even though she tried to tamper it down.

“You had a scholarship in music,” changing the topic was easy, and she couldn't bring herself to feel insulted when he taunted her with a cock of his eyebrow. “Why are you suddenly here grovelling in the dirt with me?”

“Rebellion,” he answered without missing a beat, causing her to scoff as the corner of his lips lifted in wry amusement. “A change of scenery. Maybe I was tired of watching the conductor waving his magic stick.”

“Is that why you let yourself out?” She wrapped an arm around her middle, the tutu brushing against it. “Or did someone else held the door for you?”

He didn't move from his spot near the door, and instead opted for leaning against it. “Why ask when you already know?”

“I wanted to hear it from your own mouth.”

“Why? Thought it'd sound more believable when I do?”

“Because you’re a shitty liar,” she told him bluntly, causing him to snort out a chuckle. “And you're at your worst when you're with me.”

His head fell back against the wooden surface of the door, where he had to peer at her through his lashes when the familiar glint glowed dimly in his eyes, one that made her gesture her hand at him to ask him for more excuses. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Oh. That wasn't what she'd expect him to say, and her hand dropped to her side with a slap. “I wasn't.”

He didn't reply, and only looked at her expectantly.

She tilted her chin him in defiance, because she wasn't giving him the satisfaction of admission.

They stayed like that for a second longer, before he sighed. “Fine, don't tell me.” He started walking towards her way, and she stayed the way she was as he brushed past her to get the sheets. “And while we're on the subject of ignoring people, do you think I could just pretend Lance didn't exist the whole time I'm here?”

The unexpected swerve made her turn her head to the side, watching him at the corner of her eye as he collected the papers. “You're going to be here for another couple of months, you wouldn't last until then.”

“I can try.”

It was her turn to snort, turning around to face him fully. “Good luck with that.”

Now that he was close, she could see her childhood friend properly, when the youth she remembered had carved into something more firmer. Older, perhaps; his jaw more pronounced than when he was seventeen, his hair longer, curled around his nape.

She thought she changed too, in terms of emotions.

“What happened, Allura?” He asked, tone lower than before, bordering soft.  

The question weighed heavily between them, threatening to drop like an egg balanced on the edge of cow's horn, and she locked her jaw before she shifted her eyes from his face, and instead focused on his hands holding onto the sheets.

“Why ask when you already know?”

He readjusted the papers, and the sound of it crinkling under his touch was suddenly so loud. “I wanted to hear it from your own mouth.”

I'm rubber, you're glue. What I say bounces back to you.

She inhaled sharply, before began her walk towards the door. “I'll see you tomorrow, Keith.”

And the best way for an exaggeration of an exit was the coward's way out.

She thought she heard the way he sighed behind her, but she was already rushing towards her office to grab her jacket and keys to leave that place, to leave Keith behind.

Slipping in the bomber, she pushed the back door open, a rush of cold air smacking her in the face as the streetlights glared from above her while she made her way towards her car.

She ran a hand through her hair, mentally shaking her head.

What a fucking joke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aye so, even if kallura week ended days ago, I'm just going to go on until I finish this. Because I _will_ finish this or so help me


	4. such as we

The most undermined thing she had the unpleasant fortune of experiencing was to feel completely hyper aware of everything she went through.

It was to only watch the way her dignity smeared across the pavement with her bones locked tight, unable to stop the dragging helplessness while things she didn't wish to happen were being shown in the screens of her television with mocking lights. The sight of her own withdrawn face was enough to make her recall the way cameras and people alike were always leering into her space, and it took the police to chase away the hounds that demanded her attention.

The court had solved what needed to be solved, but the weight of what happened still hung onto her shoulders; a nuisance where that there would always be people who would take one look at her and become instantly distant.

Revolted, pity. Whatever it was that she turned a blind eye against in the end.

It hurt, a bit daunting in ways that would make her push the anxious thought away, but she moved forward, and it was the best she could do to soothe the wound buried deep in her core.

Spine rigid, face neutral, and walk like you were going for murder.

And it worked; no passive aggressive agitation would penetrate her hardened resolve, and some would either notice right away or they would try their damnedest to break through.

Didn't work, and she was glad.

More importantly, she wasn't going to let her will crumble under the eyes of the man who bore the colour of his own bruises he got when he was a child.

Because someone wanted to look under her skirt, and the reason she didn't punch the creep herself was because she had been too distracted with her assignments and homework to actually notice one of the jocks checking her out in class.

Either way, Keith got suspended for three days for initiating the hit, and to both of their delight, it gotten some really angry protests from their parents as to how he was only protecting her from rude people who didn't have any self-restraint.

Since they live in a neighbourhood where superiority complex was still a thing and some people had more money than others, it was hard to have a say in anything else.

She should be thankful, she _was_ thankful they knew each other since he moved into that town.

But, at the moment, where she would tense at the mention of Sendak's name?

It would take a while for her to tell him.

In the meantime, exactly five minutes later after all of _that_ shimmered down into something more milder, Allura tried not to break the steering wheel under her grip when sharp realisation dropped to her feet, under the enlightenment of how she made a dramatic exit in front of her childhood friend.

Fantastic, really. Mother would be amused at her performance, she always did whenever Allura stormed out with all the haughtiness of a daughter she was fond of.

“Shit,” she muttered, reaching out to crank up the radio with a jerky twist of her wrist. It was mortifying to know that she had to tamper down the burning embarrassment nestling in her chest while Adam Levine filled in her ears, belching out the words with equal heat of contempt and soul-searching questions.

Her white Sedan shot down the mostly empty road of the city as she made her way to her apartment; a single speck in the night of where lions were supposed to be asleep, not taking out their anger on another who was just passing by.

There was a flash of light on her side mirror, and she almost didn't believe her own eyes when she took a look.

“You're joking.”

She wanted to laugh at the irony.

Pushing her tongue against the insides of her teeth, her fingers drummed on the smooth leather of the wheel, contemplating. Seeing the T-junction, she made a last minute turn to the right instead of going the opposite, hearing the way the tyres screeched under her before she pressed into the gas, ignoring the blare of a van while she changed lanes without using the blinker.

Glancing at the rearview mirror, the motorcycle followed suit.

The first prickle of giddiness began to spread across her sternum.

She wasn't surprised when the screen began to show an incoming call, teasing her with the identity of the owner by the glare of its name while the shrill ringtone rang in the confined space. She tutted, finger already tapping into the green button on the screen. “You know,” she greeted plainly, tone barely concealed with mockery. “Death tolls went off the charts the moment people thought it would be a good idea to talk while driving.”

“They should've thought of that before marketing these off,” came the reply, his voice so close to the mic. “And you basically committed a crime by not switching on your blinker.”

“Drastic. But, it won't be the first time I’d almost get into jail.”

Her flat response earned a pause. “Allura.”

“Keith,” she responded lightly. “Following me won't actually gain anything but the expense of your oil money, since I heard they're going to pitch it up a bit starting next week. And let's just say I'm willing to drive around every corner of this place until your bike and I can abandon you.”

“Harsh. I'll just jump on your car, and then we’d turn back to get my bike. Better yet, you'll be paying for all the damage.”

“Using me for my car and money? Lotor would give you the bliss of letting you sleep with him.”

“Don't make the mistake of promoting me like he's doing to you.” He warned dryly. “And, if we're going to catch up, I think it's better if we don't do it on the road.”

Just like that, the atmosphere from the studio was gone.

Either put away for it to rear its ugly head at a different time or vanished without a trace, she wasn't sure.

“Name a place,” he was already beside her, revving the motorcycle until both of them were on par. She took a glance, and saw the pitch black helmet he wore facing the front. “I'm fine wherever.”

“Tried the pub near the roundabout,” he informed her. “They have decent beer and some good fries there, got a band playing too.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “If they have pieces of beer bottles hanging on the ceiling, you're paying.”

With that, she cut off the line and teared through the road.

He, of course, easily caught up.

As it turned out, there _were_ broken green glass crowding on the ceiling with a string of thread on each glass, reflecting against the walls and floors as the lights shone through it. The place, as Allura remembered, was cosy enough for the sort of people to just sit and have a drink while chatting around, probably discussing everything and everyone they bumped into.

What surprised her was to see Pidge leaning against the worn out leather, her shoulder slotted against the far side of the cubicle with a bottle nestled under her fingers while her focus was on Hunk and Lance, talking with them about whatever it was the current topic was about.

“That's an odd group of people,” she murmured, slipping past crowded chairs to make her way towards them while Keith followed behind her, close enough that she was able to feel his body heat against the back of her arms.

“Small world.” He agreed.

Hunk lifted his head as they got nearer, face splitting into a grin. “Allura, hey.”

“Hunk,” she began, a smile forming while the other two took notice of their presence as well. “Mind if we join you?”

He gestured to the round table with a sweep of his hand. “Free country.”

“So, you two know each other now?” Pidge questioned as they scooted over to let them sit. “Like, bonded when Keith came over to the cafe after working hours with all of his jackassery?”

Keith reached over to take the bottle from her. “The sign still said ‘open’. So, I went in.”

“Now, _that,_ ” she jabbed a finger towards where he drowned some of the booze. “is bullshit. I remember turning it over before you decided to show face.”

He shrugged, putting the bottle on the scratched table with a quiet click. “The lights were on and Allura was inside.”

“She was already _leaving._ ”

Allura glanced at Keith from the corner of her eye, who leaned back in content with his arm perched on the back of the booth, his leg brushing against hers at every shift he made.

Somehow, his words sounded as if they had a double meaning she didn't manage to catch.

“They're BFFs from what I heard,” Lance intervened with a pointed lift of his brows. “You know, ‘you can talk shit about me, but not my best friend’ kind of quotes you find in facebook when you were thirteen, and you carry that in your little heart for the rest of the day.”

“It sounded as if you've been doing your homework.” Allura reached over to pluck the bottle from his own fingers, falling back on the sofa with a small tilt of the bottle at his way as a response to his protest. “Been stalking me, have you?”

“Hunk helped me went through your old account,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “It's easy to get in when you didn't change the security features after all the updates it did.”

“Also,” Hunk added, elbows against the table as he pointed a finger towards Keith accusingly. “It's call paint _ball_ for reason, not paint _pool_. _”_

The corner of Keith's lips quirked up while Allura let out a soft snort. “We discovered that if someone plays dirty, you answer back dirty,” he let Pidge grabbed the bottle from him. “Took me hours to wash the paint off my hair, but seeing the kid drenched made it worth it.”

“The kid only used one bucket,” Pidge pointed out. “You guys literally poured everything into the inflatable pool and covered the top with a blanket before leading him into a trap.”

Allura grinned wolfishly as she recalled the event. “Not our fault he didn't jump over like we did.”

“I downloaded the video so that I can show it to the rest of the crew,” Lance declared, waving his phone at them. “Just so they know how Doom and Gloom are just a bunch of asses like the rest of us common people, instead of being in the high spectrum of living matter like the rest of them thought.”

Keith waved the light threat away dismissively.

The band she was promised was actually just one guy, coming in from the back of the stage with his snowy forelock falling into his eyes while he held onto his electrical violin in one hand; the prosthetic one, she noted with interest, silver fingers wrapped elegantly around the neck of the instrument as he stood in front of the mike.

The look Lance gave him as he eyed the man was enough to let her know that he, too, was immediately invested at the new stranger. “And who's _that?_ ”

Keith dragged his eyes to where they all were looking at, expression softening with recognition. Her curiosity piqued more when there was some sort of exasperation in it too. “Shiro’s here.”

“He's in town?” Pidge asked, neck craning as she peered at the man above their heads. “Did Matt come back with you two?”

“I came here alone,” Keith informed them, watching the way Shiro tapped the mike with a finger as he began announcing what he would be playing; an original piece, made by a friend, one of the usual things Allura would hear from newbies that wanted to have a taste of fame. “And he's supposed to be at Italy with the rest of the team to practice for that play next week.”

Basically, travelling across the world when you were supposed to be practising would be a bad idea.

Once Shiro positioned his violin with fluid grace, he totalled his gaze on Keith -all steel eyes and strong jaw, before cocking a brow at him from where he stood.

It was a taunt, a public embarrassment that caused a few people to glance at their table in curiosity, wondering who he was having a private conversation with among the packed place.

Keith only scoffed.

The history they both carry was as obvious as the presence of human nature itself.

Allura watched, entranced as Shiro began to play into a piece of immediate action, working his way through the audience with charisma while his hands knew how to make sure the attention stayed on him, his lashes lowered that she could practically feel the way everyone was very dedicated in listening to him play.

The music, she realised, was the same piece Keith had been working on before he had to leave for college.

The first part of it was already a give away of his own personality.

A slow drag of the bow made something prickle against her flesh, before it jumped into a combination of raw determination and sharp anger that could cause one whiplash, the notes bouncing off the windows and boards of the quiet pub that she swore the occupants were startled into quietness at such sounds being produced.

Almost as if he was baring his emotions into the world.

The beauty of music, she supposed, watching the way Keith had honed his attention onto the man in front of them.

Without warning, he stood up.

“What is he doing?” Hunk whispered in alarm while Keith made his way to the front.

“Hunting.” Allura replied with her eyes still on his lithe back.

Shiro bared his teeth into a beam when he saw Keith, jerking his head towards the side as indication while the bow remained moving under his command. Keith went and unzipped the large black bag, bringing out the keyboard before plugging it in with a familiar gait thrumming in his fingers.

At this point, everyone was getting excited.

Keith dove in the middle of a frantic moment as easy as free falling itself, lightening up the place more with both of their wild dedication towards the other that made cheers and wolf whistles erupting around them.

He lifted his head and met her gaze head-on.

She lifted her bottle as a response.

Amusement flashed past his face for a brief moment, fingers pressing into the pieces on their own record as the notes poured out of the two men in waves.

They ended with a flourish, bouncing on one note to another with all the speciality of a musician would have, before Shiro dragged his bow against the five strings with a low hum that caused gooseflesh against her skin.

The roars of appreciation that came after that made her smile as she clapped with the rest of them.

“They're always like this when they're paired together,” Pidge spoke over the crowd, but a grin stretched wide on her face as well. “A bunch of drama queens.”

“That,” Hunk began when the two men arrived at their table, laughing quietly among themselves. “Was incredible.”

Shiro smiled. “Keith created the piece, I'm just doing what he did.”

“You made it awesome, though,” Lance laughed, offering a hand for Shiro to shake. “My man, this place is gonna be boring once you have to leave.”

“You're feeding his ego.” Keith rolled his eyes, but there was a satisfied air around himself as he sank beside Allura again while Shiro made his place beside Hunk, reaching over to ruffle Pidge's hair.

“Quite the show over there,” Allura commented, tilting her head towards the stage. She smirked when Shiro met her eyes. “Congratulations. It's not everyday you see Keith being like that here.”

“He's alright,” Shiro joked. “He’s good company when he feels like it.”

That earned a swift slide of bottled gin towards his way, where Shiro easily grabbed it with a hand when it almost teetered over the edge of the table. Keith blinked lazily after Shiro shot him a look, and he didn't flinch when the former particularly tossed an empty glass across the table that made Shiro caught it with the other hand.

Pidge snickered, munching on a fry. “See? Drama queens.”

“Keith told us you were supposed to be in Italy,” Allura began, because the residuals from before still lingered in the air between them, something that was considered as dangerous when the power of confidence thudded heavily with the need to _know_. “In an orchestra?”

“Yeah, I'm one of the violinist.” He poured gin into his glass. “And our manager gave us a chance to take a break.

“I didn't know Haggar even knew the meaning of ‘rest’.” Keith sounded genuinely suspicious at that.

Shiro shrugged. “Probably just looked it up in the dictionary.”

They shared a good natured chuckle, before one of the waitresses came towards their table with another plate of fries.

“Thanks, Shay,” Hunk said appreciatively, taking a few of them. “Pidge finished the rest of them before I had a chance to take some.”

“It was getting cold,” Pidge objected, wiping her fingers with a tissue. “I was doing everyone a favour by making sure you get the fresh ones.”

Hunk sniffed. “Excuses.”

She retaliated by flicking a scrunched up receipt at him.

Shay chuckled. “No problem.” Then, she gave Allura a sly smile. “I wasn't surprised when I saw you walked in.”

“Tell my uncle he can't keep me away forever,” Allura told her with a curve of her lips. “Anyway, I should be able to come here again in another week, so it almost doesn't make much difference when I'm here earlier.”

“What did you do?” Keith asked, eyes flickering between the both of them.

“Oh, _man_ ,” Lance began to chortle. “Someone tried to force her to go home with him when she didn't want to, and _that_ caused him to be angry because she humiliated him publicly. Then, he tried to grab her.”

Hunk winced. “Yeah, I remember that.”

“What happened?” It was Pidge who initiated the question, wiping her glasses with the hem of her work uniform.

Lance held up a hand to tick off each list. “The dude broke his wrist, hundred dollars worth of booze wasted, and Coran kicked both of them out.”

“Sounds exciting.” Shiro laughed.

“Coran thought it would be funny if he hung them around the place,” Allura pointed towards the crowded ceiling without looking at them. “and that he made it look as if he wanted to remind me of how much damage I did by exhibiting them like some kind of modern art in a gallery.”

“He was fairly happy about it too.” Shay recalled, picking up the empty plate. “Managed to cut a finger or two, but he was alright.”

Shrugging, Allura stole a fry for herself. “Banned me from coming in again for a month, which is why,” she jabbed the half eaten food towards Keith's way, mouth curling up. “You would be my banker for the night.”

He raised an eyebrow inquiringly. “Yeah?”

She gave a hum of agreement, finishing off the rest of it. “For old times sake.”

Chuckling shortly, he reached for the fries in front of her. “Only because you asked so nicely.”

“How considerate.”

She knew their conversation were keenly observed by their friends around the table, even if Shay had quickly slipped away when she was needed by another customer. If Keith realised any of them as well, he didn't give any indication he cared as he only remained carefully aloof around them.

Keith Kogane had gotten better at pretending he wouldn't burst into a spray of fireworks if someone payed attention on him for too long to the point he became uncomfortable.

But it was, if Allura was going to admit it to herself, _good_ to see the way he shot her a look through the bangs of his hair -almost knowingly, the past they had coming back to her with a quick flash of swapped jellybeans and redecorating each other's hair.

These things weren't secrets they locked away from eyes, but it _was_ something only the both of them took knowledge of, one that didn't bother to be announced as they kept the things they have just the way it was.

A mediocre thing, all things considered. Vague, general; the universe working as it were without some galactic whore breathing down its neck.

Allura only took a sip of her drink, enough to forget this for a while and because she wasn't going to help herself in the the future if she was going to crash into the nearest pole.

 

* * *

 

“I know you want to ask me something.”

They drove back to the studio when Allura wanted to get the file she left in her office; a new class of younger students, all in their teens as they would be the new faces to be shown once the rest of the crew would retire. At that time of the night where the air thrummed lazily against the back of her ear, it seemed a bit too _harsh._

Harsh, in what way? Already finding new people when the ones she had now were only in their late twenties or early thirties?

One part of her mind only excused it as efficiency.

The other screamed betrayal.

Convincing herself that they needed new people for the company to strive sounded dull at the moment.

She lifted her head to see the way he was leaning against the frame of her door, arms crossed, waiting for her reply. “Observant, are you?” She looked back down to search for the file. “I did, actually.”

“And?”

“And,” finding it, she pulled it out, leafing through the pages to double-check if all the information was there. “I figured it was none of my business so I kept quiet.”

“I think I'll be the judge of that.” Keith didn't move a muscle as she checked the papers one by one, gaze not leaving her.

“You don't have to, I made the decision myself.” She slammed the file shut a bit too forcefully before she began her way towards the door. “I'm done. Goodnight, Keith.”

“You looked like you were thinking too hard again, so I guessed it was bothering you,” he said when she was about to brush past him, and she snapped her eyes towards his face. His brows were furrowed slightly as he looked back at her. “What is it?”

Her immediate reaction was to raise herself into defense, but she avoided that entirely by simply shifting her weight into one foot. “It didn't bother me,” she began calmly. “I was only wondering if you two were together.”

Both of his eyebrows shot up. “Me and who?”

“Shiro.” She said shortly, because she was getting fidgety under his scrutinising gaze, but she wasn't going to curve herself in for it.

He blinked at her in surprise, and to her amazement, his look switched into something more embarrassed. “Maybe we shared a good fuck or two, but we're still friends,” he shrugged meekly. “Work was a lot, tension was high, and we were one second from doing something more stupid,” he cut himself off, this shrug more weaker than the last.

“Having sex with your friend was already stupid?” The words spur out of her before she could stop herself.

“When both of us agreed on it? God, yes,” he huffed out laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. “But, it's, you know,” he gestured vaguely with his hand. “Stress relief.”

The clarity of what both men shared on that stage was enough proof of what they gone through together, of what they _had_.

She wasn't exactly surprised when he only confirmed her thoughts.

Nodding, she walked past him. “Alright.”

“That's it?” He called out from behind her, a thin veil of sarcasm in his tone.

“Unless you have anything else that's considered as exciting, sure.”

“My sex life isn't exciting like yours.”

She tossed a grin over her shoulder. “You just need to be creative, and probably some money.”

“Last time I saw, that's called being a prostitute,” came his bland reply, but she could hear the smile in it.

“Who knows? Maybe you'll finally put your Scout's knots to use.”

The answer she got was a snort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys watch Whiplash starring Miles Teller, _that's_ the type of tension both Keith and Shiro had to face. Imagine them being a mess and practising day and night until they became pros while at the same time by being ridiculously petty to their instructor because they were just so gosh darn cruel and honestly that sounds _great_
> 
> Also, finally got the kallura moments in :') and this ship week ended ages ago, but I'm hoping to to keep this going on until it's done to day 7. I won't be updating this whole month anymore because of the work I have to do (college sux lol) and so this will be the last until I have some time to squeeze in a few more updates
> 
> Until then, thanks for reading!


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